


washed in the tide of her breathing

by redledgers



Category: Lucifer (TV)
Genre: F/M, Metaphors, Mild Knifeplay, Oral Sex, Sexual Content, Smut, Some softness, Wings, knifeplay only tagged because it's like three sentences but it's not a focus
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-10
Updated: 2019-10-10
Packaged: 2020-12-07 14:40:09
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,823
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20977559
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/redledgers/pseuds/redledgers
Summary: But that had been earlier and, now, cold marble greets him as he sinks to his knees before her, trailing his fingers down her ankle. She leans back against the piano, watches him unfasten her shoes without hesitation and set them aside without a care in the world. In the light of the bar, she is haloed and holy and full of want.





	washed in the tide of her breathing

**Author's Note:**

  * For [ObliObla](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ObliObla/gifts).

Lucifer had been to many premieres with much better fanfare, but none of them could hold a candle to the evening of agony that began when Chloe stepped out of the car. Chloe Decker, back in the spotlight to support her mother’s newest film, and looking positively sinful in a lacy high-low dress dark enough to be the night sky. He could barely keep his hands off of her even with the deal she’d offered under the blinding lights of the carpet. 

But that had been earlier and, now, cold marble greets him as he sinks to his knees before her, trailing his fingers down her ankle. She leans back against the piano, watches him unfasten her shoes without hesitation and set them aside without a care in the world. In the light of the bar, she is haloed and holy and full of want.

“Lucifer,” she says, her breath hitching as he runs his palm down her calf before lifting her leg to press a kiss to her ankle. He would blanket the sky in never-ending light to hear her say his name like that again, would mold valleys and mountains from iron and carbon to make their own world if only he were able. If it were in his nature, if it were his desire, he would build a religion on the softness of her lips. And Chloe is radiant above him, like she always is, lips already kiss-swollen and something in her eyes that makes him weak. His own star, not made from the Heavens, but one that he can—_will_—unmake on the altar of his choosing.

Lucifer takes a moment to admire the flush that spreads across her chest before he resumes nosing his way up her leg, scattering kisses across her calf, her knee, her thigh, the stars made of his desire spread across her skin not unlike the divinity he had used to paint the canvas of the sky. His nose finds lace wrapped around her thigh and he chases the line of it with his tongue. The pads of his fingers skate over the soft skin, thumbs tracing the edge of the garter, and he feels the blunt edge of a knife hidden just past the hem of her dress. “Oh, _ Detective_,” he purrs.

The look she gives him sends lightning singing through his veins, and her nails scratch his scalp as she cards her fingers through his hair. “Yes?” she says. Her voice is like warm honey and he can almost catch the scent of myrrh and spices when she exhales. From where he is, though, he can smell her, and _ oh_, this has become such delicious torture. She deserves to be taken apart every way he knows how, pulled into pleasure and stitched together by the mettle and iron of the stars. 

“You shouldn’t have,” is his response as he removes the knife delicately, skating the blunt edge of it down her leg. Her fingers tighten in his hair, and he watches her gape as he runs his tongue up the flat of it, feeling its sharpness against tender flesh, but not hard enough to draw blood. _ Well then_, he thinks, catching sight of her eyes blown out, the way her tongue presses against her cheek, and he bestows a kiss to the pointed tip before sending the knife skittering across the marble flooring.

“I really shouldn't have,” she manages after a breath, nose wrinkling. She tugs him back to her, and he follows her guidance willingly, his course charted by her and her alone. The soft hem of her dress falls against his cheek as he nudges it aside to catch hold of the garter with his teeth. His hands grab her waist, holding her steady even as he feels her shiver. The noise she makes is far sweeter than any choir, no matter how soft it is, and he makes a slow and torturous show of removing the senseless lace garter. It dangles from his lips as he sits back on his heels to look up at her.  


****

She loves Lucifer in every way, but right now she loves the sight of him kneeling before her. Warmth pools in her stomach as he slips the garter down her leg with his teeth, fingers trailing behind it. His grin is lascivious as he lets the garter fall from his lips. And then he is surging up again, littering kisses over her inner thighs, pressing his nose to the scrap of fabric the store dared call underwear but Chloe considered useless. Except she knows what it does to Lucifer. And she likes that.

She feels teeth graze her hip gently before the band of her barely there panties snaps and Lucifer drops them with a singular focus. “Chloe,” he breathes against her skin, and he flattens his tongue against the edge of dark curls to lick a stripe up to the dip of her navel. It is reverent and blasphemous, as if she were in the garden with him all those years ago, and she wants _ more_.

If Chloe were a begging woman, she would beg right now, say _ please, Lucifer, please kiss me, _ because she knows there is nothing he loves more than to be between her thighs only for her to lick the taste of herself from his tongue. Instead, his breath ghosts across her skin, and she hitches her skirts up so she can watch him better. He’s quiet below her, reverent and calm, but she knows the storm that brews beneath his eyes, knows the intensity of this moment will soon be turned onto her sparking nerves.

He is still as she threads her fingers through his hair again, wishing desperately she could strip the product and bury her hands in his curls, to take him apart to his core. When he looks up at her, he grins, his tongue flicking at the corner of his mouth and she is only given one brief moment of warning before he ducks again, presses the flat of his tongue against her core, and _ moans _so low and filthy that she feels it shoot through her, spreading like lightning across her nerves.

The hand gripping the piano nearly slips, and she struggles to regain her hold as he sets her alight with his mouth, suckling at her clit and swiping his tongue through her folds. He strings her out with teeth and tongue, one hand holding her steady and the other roaming, teasing, dipping a finger into her before it’s gone in an instant. Like she is something to be devoured and cherished at the same time. She desires that duality, and he gives it willingly, a constant push and pull like the tide.

Chloe hears the noises she makes as his tongue fucks into her, and she wants to grab his hair again, to push him further against her, but she can’t, not without losing her balance or burying him in the fabric of her skirt. But the sounds echo in the penthouse like rolling thunder, and he hears them too. Lucifer whines against her clit and Chloe is tumbling over the precipice, finding the stars as she screws her eyes shut with a gasping sound that almost sounds like his name. His fingers thread between hers, bringing her back to the Earth, to this space.  


****

She tastes of brine and starlight when he sets his mouth to her, devouring her in such a way that she lets loose a language all her own, and he wants to learn it the way he is still learning her body. His hips buck against nothing as he presses his tongue into her and feels her tighten around him. It sends white-hot lightning to his already straining cock, and he whines his need, his _ desperation_, against her. The sensation is enough for her to unravel.

He wishes he could capture her in stained glass, with her head thrown back and his name on her lips. She’s shaking above him, coming undone, and he reaches up to grab hold of the fingers she’s gripping the edge of the piano with, threads his fingers between hers to ground her.

Then her skirt falls over his face and he looses a disgruntled huff against her clit. Chloe jerks, too sensitive, and he grabs her hips to ease her down into his lap. “Bloody hell, darling,” he says, and kisses her gently. 

Whatever chasteness he had hoped for is gone when Chloe pushes her tongue past his lips, licks into his mouth, and he is helpless to do anything but let her plunder him, hold herself steady on the foundation of his body. Her hands are firm against his chest and he feels her press against him, as if she could push him down only to watch him come apart beneath her. “Detective,” he says, his voice a sultry purr, and his fingers find the zipper of her dress. He tugs it down swiftly and makes a delighted noise when he skates his teeth across her breast. She shivers, and he files it away in the ever growing catalogue of things he loves. It falls somewhere between her smile and the scattered light of Trixie's glow in the dark stars, but he finds no reason to order them. “Darling,” he continues, “you’re wearing entirely too much right now.”

“I can say the same for you,” she replies, and her fingers are a brand against his skin as she slips buttons free, skates her hands down his shirt to tug it from his pants. But he catches her hand before she can shove it past his waistband, and she whines. 

“Plenty of time for that later.” Lucifer stands, though not without some trouble, drawing her up with him and leaving her dress to slide off and puddle at their feet. She’s disheveled now, and he suspects he looks the same, hopes she can see the stars catching in his eyes as he gathers her up in his arms and starts toward the balcony. “You promised,” he murmurs against the crown of her head, and the fingers that idle at his collarbone are as gentle as a blessing. 

Chloe’s voice is husky when she replies. “Fine, but I also want your wings.”

Lucifer nudges the hot tub jets on before setting her down carefully and undressing. He would give her anything she asked, and she knows this. Has given her everything, even when she doesn’t ask; a coffee, a prom, his soul. But she chooses not to ask for the moon, because she is so full of grace that she shines brighter than the Silver City. She is golden where they have grown tarnished, softened while their blades have grown sharp. He unfurls his wings with a crackle and the overwhelming scent of ozone, and when she takes his hand to pull him in with her, she is almost glowing. 

**Author's Note:**

> big thanks to obli for helping me with this.
> 
> chloe is actually not a fan of the knife in the moment though it was kinda hot


End file.
